Desperate to Falter
by xKISMETx
Summary: When feelings clash and secrets are uncovered, how far are you willing to go to keep whats yours? What you deserve. Buono cumpleanos Romano!
1. Addolorato

**So this is an attempt to finally do (and complete) a fanfiction. Seriously, I won't abandon this one. ;~; *will also try to go back and update the other two.* Thanks for reading and as always~ Reviews are welcome.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, if I did, there'd be more sex. Much, much more sex.**

* * *

The rough material ran through Lovino's hands, twisting into a knot and turning it over in his grip, the Italian nodded to himself in content. His eyes were an unusual grey. It was hard, excruciatingly so, to watch his own people suffering, dying, burning. He could practically taste the smoke in his lungs, feel the burns and whips on his flesh, hear the scorns and ruthless anointments. If given the choice, he wouldn't trade places with them. He loved his people, but he loved himself more. How disgusting?

He couldn't stand it; the war was at a standstill...Germany had accomplished in conquering most of Europe, and he was just a chess piece...Spain was bombed the other day. He heard it was devastating, people were running around burnt in the streets, limbless children dead, never knowing that it was coming for them. He tried to imagine the anguished faces of mothers. He nearly cringed at the thought of what it would do to the happy go lucky bastard. Spain was _too_ fond of his people. No doubt, he'd do something stupid. Something ridiculously, dangerously, and touchingly stupid.

Death. It was inevitable, and no one knew when their time was to come. He was an internal clock, ticking towards it's detention, but he's already blown. Lovino wanted out. It might have been cowardly, or selfish but, he wasn't needed, no one was finding use in him for the war efforts...the world hated him, loathed Italy...The brunette trailed his blank orbs around the rim of the stool.

It was funny, to think he'd finally be done in by a rope. He'd always imagined it would be something exiting. Like an explosion- you know, going down in a blaze of glory? But why would something like that happen to him? A mediocre death for a mediocre life. Fucking perfect.

The thick tendrils of non-existent smoke filled his lungs, just as the screams filled his ears. To be so surrounded engulfed, never alone… he had his blaze- his flames. Those grappling hands of death that wrapped around his own fire, smothered it. How many dead? How many who wished they were dead? Would it be so cruel as to wish death upon them, his own people? His family? It had to be better than… Anything was better than _this_. Crushed by a falling beam, nailed by bullets, shells clattering to the ground, strung up by their own fear and left to rot. He couldn't fight back, and that hurt the most. He smiled through it all. He smiled at the meeting the next day. Antonio had smiled at England, America, France, China, Italy, _Germany_ even. When Antonio had looked at him, he looked away. How could he? That must have been the thing going through his mind, jumbled with chaos. How could Romano do this to him? He'd been asked to join both sides. Declined both. He had been given a choice, unlike so long ago. Lovino could remember it so clearly, even to this day. A soft breeze blew in from the south. The Spanish sun was warm and bright, as if welcoming the newest arrival to Spain's home, and Empire, Italia Romano..Romano, Roma, Lovi..He had cursed, toppled over a bookshelf, flipped the Spaniard an obscene gesture and told him to " _Fuck off, bastardo!_". Antonio _must_ have been thinking. 'Why are you so harsh, so clumsy, so dirty mouthed? Why can't you be sweet, helpful, kind? Why can't you be more like your brother?' He'd given Romano everything he could have possibly wanted, spoiled him. Over time, they grew closer. He even liked to think they were friends, family! But look where he was now. Choices, or no. He was stuck where he had landed himself. He couldn't complain. So he smiled, but not at Lovino.

It hit Lovino hard, to be at those meetings they called peace war efforts. He didn't want to join either side, he'd rather seclude himself into darkness, wanted to be convicted of the wrongs he'd caused over the years to so many innocent people. And for what? Believing in something? It was disgusting how that blonde's head worked, searching out the weak first to only eliminate them immediately. He then thought of his brother as he finally picked up the foot stool. The bubbly little piece of shit that he called his _fratello_ was probably off skipping somewhere with his gorilla psychopath of a partner. He'd suffered so much for his brother, given up so many things, so many luxuries. But that's what was expected, right? He was enough of an ass to do _something _selfless, to do sometheing out of love. Antonio flashed before him as he set the stool below the dangling loop in his dimly lit closet, the wind outside was soft and quiet, gently kissing the bright blue sky that shone cruelly on his beloved people, who were being exterminated and killed. He just wanted this whole thing to be over. It was pointless really to keep on living, right? If he died then he'd save his people, he'd disappear, Germany and Italy would lose a great amount of support and America, the democracy ass would definitely swoop in and take his chance already... right? Or maybe...Spain would come and help? He doubted that one right of the bat and felt his bare feet pad against the rough wood of the stool. He felt his eyes tearing slightly, tearing for the ones he'd killed, millions he'd ruined and the one he'd never be able to get back. He'd rather be dead than to see him smile at the coward he was.

"Mi dispiace..." He murmured, tortured hazel eyes stared at the doorway to his bedroom from atop the stool he stood on; a soft bed, rich, warm colors and the smell of lilacs were the last things he saw and smelt before reaching up to grab the hand-made noose above him. Some say that your life flashes before your eyes in your last moments, it lets you see how you made out in life, if you were successful or a total failure. The petite Italian had always been horrified with this thought and he shook as he brought the rope around his throat. He'd loved Antonio with all of his heart, and he'd ruined everything like he always does. The Spaniard was beautiful, charismatic and way too good to be anywhere near him. He was a father, brother, first love...a friend who he could complain to, hit when annoyed, cry to when he was shuddering from the simplest of thunder storms, or even hush and comfort him when he doubted himself, always cooing and showing off his blinding smile that made his very existence make sense. His body was filled with nothing but respect, adoration and the swelling, throbbing desire to love, and be loved by him in a way that wasn't companionship, but simply a lover's duty to always be there for the other. What would Antonio think when he didn't show up to the meeting tomorrow? Would he be worried his little tomate wasn't there? Lovino's feet shakily guided themselves blindly to the edge of the stool, his tears making everything look like he was drowning in the most tragic of seas. And before he stepped forward, before the weight of his body fell, and before he was choking and gasping for air, the Italian had cried like a child and selfishly yelled at the doorway, cursed it for not loving him. But he was unable to break his neck immediately, so there he hung, eyes drooping in depressed fear, throat constricting his life, and his heart beating ferociously, struggling for everything and nothing at all.

Lovino was practically torturing himself, this ongoing pain he felt in the crook of his neck, the chocking sound slipping from his lips. The whole time, he was begging, _begging_ god to end his life, he couldn't stop thing of Antonio. He was blinded by visions, and he desperately groaned, seethed at the relinquishing memories. His childhood. He was sitting in the middle of the kitchen, picking up a broken glass, "_M-Mi dispiace Nonno..._" the young boy pleaded, his eyes splayed open nervously. He received a kick in reply. That night, which was forever burned into his memory, would be long, painful and bloody. The worst experience of his life, besides watching Antonio walk away, refusing to look at him. "C-Chnnkg...a-ahh-" His desperate choking soon dwindled, and he began to hear voices...he stopped struggling at the warmth the voice brought to his chest...Antonio...if he was going to die with Antonio's voice then...he couldn't complain. His vision started to blacken, shifting from being conscience to flooding in pure dark, inevitable, black.


	2. Orrore

Have you ever wanted to relive a moment? What if, you could relive it all? You could see your life through the eyes of someone you'd never known: Yourself.

* * *

Halls of gold ornamented in tapestries depicting the bible. Silver thistle adorned the high ceiling, highlighting the faces of Moses, Jacob, and Ethel. Candles glittered from chandeliers like a thousand stars all gracing the alabaster walls.

I could feel the tapping at the back of my mind. Like a distant memory I was searching for. Something I knew. I followed the route of red carpet, marveling.

I was moved to stop, forced to, at a large door. I might sound like a little bitch for saying this, but I was afraid of it. That dumbass door scared the hell out of me. Ironic, being where I was. I reached out hesitantly. My fingertips grazed the smooth oak and the large double doors flung open. A whirlwind hit me, whipping my hair back and stinging my eyes. A choked sob split my ears and then, nothing.

It was dark. No, not dark but dim. A soft glow lit the room. It was just one candle now. A lone soldier fighting the ever pressing darkness. It surrounded it. The wick was low; he wouldn't survive much longer. Coffee colored locks licked awfully close to the dancing flame. One faulty movement and the crown of curls would ignite. He looked up and I was graced with a tan face. Green eyes lit the room far more than the pathetic excuse for a candle. His face was sharper than I remembered. His brow was furrowed and there was something in his eyes I couldn't place. I'd never seen it before. He looked worried, angry, young, but just as much a bastard as ever. Maybe more.

He placed his head in his palm, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly with the other. A heavy sigh fell from thin, downturned, lips. He sighed and rolled his neck, mumbling a complaint about the papers in front of him. I crossed my arms, already bored with him. Then, there was a knock on the door, scary huh?

"Señor España."

"Que es?" He answered in his equally as heavy accent.

"The front is on the move. They'll be within the walls by afternoon." I blinked at this. They were talking like they were in the middle of war.

"I know. Have the soldados prepared?" A nod. "Bien. I'll be out in a moment."

"Ay, Señor España." The Spaniard nodded and left. I turned back to Spain, confusion marring my face. I blushed a healthy red when he started undressing.

"What the hell are you doing bastard?!" I yelled, throwing a hand over my eyes. The clink of metal reopened my eyes. I spread my fingers in time to watch him drop his thin flannel shirt to the ground. I was presented with tan skin, gold by the candle. He looked over his shoulder at me and my breath hitched.

He turned back, replacing his clothes and donning armor. An obnoxious red cloak was tied to his shoulder braces. His feet padded over to the makeshift cot, soon covered in boots of the same metal. He stood and crossed to an axe, hanging on the wall, I hadn't noticed. It was his axe. I recognized it from all times I had seen him barring it at that perverted bastard. He gripped it, weighing it in his hand.

"Siento Roma."

"What are you talking about bastard?"

He swung it. The cold metal sliced through the air rapidly at my gut. I screamed and clamped my eyes shut, too shocked to move. But I didn't feel the cut. I re-opened my eyes, blinking rapidly in confusion. I felt my stomach, prodding it. I was fine.

"Bastard?" No answer. "Bastard? Spain? Spain?! Spain!" Why wasn't he answering me? Couldn't he hear me? He was standing right there!

But he couldn't. He couldn't hear me, or see me apparently. Tears pricked my eyes as I watched him turn away, pushing the cracked door open. I tried to move my feet after him, but I couldn't. I couldn't move until he was gone. My feet slapped the wooden floorboards and I pushed the door. It opened slowly, creaking.

I blinked, only to be greeted with that same blade hurtling at my face. Again, I didn't feel the impact, but there was blood. It sprayed onto his face, dyeing tan skin red. I turned my head, still very much attached, in time to see the poor bastard behind me sink to the ground, his head clinging to his neck by a thin, bloody stretch of skin. I ripped my eyes away from him, but the scenery was no better elsewhere.

I was no stranger to war, but this was hell.

The bodies weren't distinguishable, neither were those actually fighting. They were maiming each other. My head swung from side to side, trying to find Spain. I did, by that same obnoxious cloak. I watched him slice through man after man, not knowing which were his comrades or enemies. How could they tell? Then I realized they couldn't. Spain narrowly avoided lopping off the head of his own soldier, stopping only when the man started pleading with him in rapid fire Spanish.

It was disgusting, frightening, and…

I closed my eyes, sat down, and curled into a ball, waiting for it to be over.

* * *

Spain panted, his breath falling in short gasps as he peeled the bandages back, replacing them with cleaner ones. I sat in front of him, watching him work through bored hazel eyes. His eyes seemed greener from my point of view.

"Be more careful, idiot." I didn't know why I kept trying to talk to him, it was pointless.

When he was done, we just sat there together, staring through each other. Then, Spain started crying. The tears cut streaks over his dirty cheeks, cleaning them. He placed his face in his hands, mumbling hail Marys as if he had just murdered a priest. I'd never seen Spain cry. He cried and laughed, the two mingling into a confused sound of regret and horror.

I stayed up with him until he went to sleep; the bastard snored.


	3. Notte

It was when he had stopped praying.

The nights were always silent in his house. The night swallowed up the lively sounds of the Spanish country side, quelling the music and laughter, killing the vibrant colors of the bustling villa. The darkness was unending, shadows growing dismally in my mind. But that had been the imagination of a child, surrounded by unfamiliar furniture twice his size and looming candelabras.

I hated it there.

Antonio was a silent, lurking bastard around this time, scowling at everything and anything that dared to seem remotely positive. Once, I saw him launch into a tirade at two maids he had caught having a pillow fight. They were cute... He was my night during the day. He killed all conversation with a flick of his eyes. His very presence in a room was domineering, suffocating, and daring someone to smile within his view. It was silent.

I hated him.

He had stopped smiling at me. His mouth was always this tight, unforgiving line. It seemed he hated joy. So, I laughed as much as possible.

Antonio walked down the hall silently, me his ghostly stalker. I had witnessed the change so clearly, it feeling like just yesterday I had seen him with so much emotion, eyes more honest than a beggar at confessional. It was so drastic, the person that he was turning into...this bastard.

It felt strange, being seeing but unseen. I felt like I was spying on him. It left an unruly knot in my stomach. I twisted my hands together, following him like a lost puppy. I was pathetic.

There was a deafening crash, followed by a philippic of curses explicit enough to make a gypsy blush. Antonio's footsteps hurried. His eyes were frantic as we entered the room, immediately picking out the cause of the disturbance.

Me.

I was in tears, gripping my arm as if it might fall off. My lower lip trembled pathetically as Bella fretted over me, nearly in tears herself. Antonio's axe laid less than a foot away, the door to the cabinet in which it had been resting, wide open.

He seized my arm, ripping my hand away to investigate the cut. It was shallow; I'd only been scraped by the axe. I faintly heard a relieved sigh and then the younger me, still sniffling, was lifted upright by his uninjured arm. I looked confused, and then Antonio's palm met my backside. Antonio spanked the younger me until my tears were anew, washing down my face in rivulets. It was mostly from embarrassment, having been punished in front of Bella, but also from confusion. That was the first, and only, time Antonio had ever punished me for anything.

Maybe that's why I'm such an ungrateful wretch.

I had blamed it on the new him. This strange, unforgiving man who had taken the bubbly bastard's place. The one who hated laughter and wanted me to cry.

"I hate you, bastard! Why don't you just go fucking die!" I fled the room, wiping stubbornly at my tears with a green sleeve, likely to avoid another spanking for my outburst. Bella chased after me, intent on consoling me. I wanted to slap myself. I would have gladly done the time for child abuse, not considering it didn't exist at this time.

Antonio had ruthlessly slaughtered thousands of men, thrown away his morals, and risked his sanity to keep me with him. No one had ever wanted to deal with the stubborn, hot headed, _wreck_ of an Italian that was so much less than his brother. But he'd been willing to die for me, and I had told him to die. I felt like I was going to throw up.

No wonder he'd tried to trade me in.

I remembered though. Antonio had told me never to play near that. He knew about my issues concerning my hands. That was why he never yelled when I broke things, not because he was that nice, he understood. Like the time I knocked over an entire shelf while trying to sweep. I'd destroyed vases older than I was, and even cracked the floor. A tornado would have cause less damage than that fucking shelf. He'd laughed, patted me on the head and sent me to go play with Bella. I never discovered who cleaned up my messes.

I'd tried to swing his ax, intent on impressing Bella with how cool I was, but I'd screwed up.

The axe had slipped or I'd dropped it. I didn't mean to, but I hadn't listened to him and I'd gotten hurt. It honestly hadn't been that bad, but looking at Antonio, the way he was trembling, his eyes shooting from his fallen axe to his feet as if indecisive, I knew I'd deserved it.

That was the day Antonio locked away his axe.

That was the day he started praying again.


	4. Inutili

**Muchas gracias to everyone who reviewed. ;u; I normally don't leave author notes because I feel that it interrupts the flow of the story, but I just had to thank you for the support. ;7; I also tried to answer a few questions with this chapter.**

* * *

My first world meeting was a disaster.

I knew, even as I followed the primped and pressed younger me into the room that the day would end horribly. I wished I could warn myself. What was the point in being able to relive parts of my life if I couldn't avoid the mistakes I made? But I wasn't reliving it, I was watching a rerun.

I'd been in this situation before when I was watching the Godfather. I would always scream at the television screen, warning the stupid bastards that they needed to turn around- not to go down that fucking street, anything but that fucking street! Poor fucker never even saw the bullet coming, but I did. The viewer always knew how to avoid the worst parts of a movie, but they couldn't warn their favorite characters, no matter how they screamed.

That's the position I was in, only the poor, oblivious, bastard was me.

The room was bubbling with discussion, some important, some not. There were other children there too. A blonde haired boy holding the hand of a tall man with eyebrows that took up half his face, a slightly smaller blonde lurking behind the perverted bastard and a boy who looked half asleep.

Suddenly, there was a joyful cry of "Fratello." And a bouncy, auburn haired boy was crawling all over me.

_Feliciano had always been a happy-go-lucky idiot._

I watched as Antonio chuckled, plucking Feliciano off of me before resetting him on the ground. "Hola Italy, good to see you're so happy." The younger me scoffed, mumbling something along the lines of 'when is he not?' which was pointedly ignored by the other two, even though it was true.

"Ve~ Mr. Austria brought me to the meeting; he said I was finally big enough! But I didn't know fratellone would be here too!" I pulled a face at him.

"Of course I'm here idiota. You're too stupid to-" "Romano!" Antonio chided, effectively cutting off what would have turned into a barrage of curses. I opened my mouth to rebuke him, but clamped it shut as Feliciano and I were cast into the shadow of a tall man I appropriately deemed 'eyebrow bastard.'

"Can't control your colonies Anthony?" I blinked, my frown settling. I looked around myself in obvious confusion. What the hell was an Anthony?

"Can't control your mouth, Arthur?" Antonio responded, throwing me further into my confusion. "_Anthony_?" I spoke aloud, drawing the attention of both the older nations. Antonio looked horrified. I blushed in embarrassment, feeling eyebrow bastard's critical gaze.

"Well aren't you cute." I don't know what I must have been expecting, but that wasn't it. My younger self's blush intensified, unknowingly matching my own. I didn't remember this part of the meeting.

_Feliciano had always been cuter._

I scowled and bit my thumb, flicking it at England. He looked stunned, even taking a step back in shock. The blonde boy I now recognized as America gasped, covering his mouth with his hand. I expected him to laugh. I had forgotten he used to be a well-mannered, civilized, European colony. I was used to the loud ass older version of him; I even think I preferred it.

"Where in the bloody hell did you learn that?" He asked, glancing to Antonio accusingly.

I scoffed superiorly, tilting my chin up. "Please, I'm Italy. I have fucking theatre in my veins." I'd picked that tidbit of an insult up from a play commonly referred to as 'the great tragedy of Romeo and Juliet'. At least, that's what the harpers called it. I thought they were fucking stupid. Who the hell fell in love in a night? Or automatically assumed someone was dead if they wouldn't wake up? Dumb assess deserved to die…but it was still a great play. And I definitely didn't cry during it.

England looked astonished, both his caterpillars disappearing into his blonde bangs. "You're Italy?" I could tell by the scowl emerging on my face that I didn't get why he was so surprised.

"Ve~ Si! Fratello is southern Italy and I'm northern Italy! Pleased to meet you sir." Feliciano chirped happily, smiling dopily. England glanced to him, his confusion settling. "I see..." He looked between Feliciano and the younger me. "It seems unnecessary." I blinked at him, my scowl slowly fading. I didn't have the chance to say anything in response as a loud voice, accented thickly, called the meeting to order. The gathered nations took their seats, including Feliciano and I. We sat side by side.

"The meeting has commenced."

Now, this wasn't a U.N meeting. This was a meeting of nations, not a meeting for representatives of nations all bickering about what they could do to help their countries and line their pockets. No, here it was personal. Nations had been having meetings of the like for centuries, long before the idea of an organization to keep order and peace had even entered the mind of a world leader.

I usually did my best to pay attention at meetings, Feli being too easily distracted to take proper notes. They were usually droning messes of boredom until someone said something that started a riot. Not now though, this was a time of conquest and empires. The tension was thick, but went completely unnoticed by myself, Feli, and that one kid who really was sleeping now.

My ears perked as Switzerland read off the latest news. Unfortunately, I couldn't keep up. It was like listening to a history speech. Then, Switzerland mentioned Spain's reinforcement of his claim on southern Italy. I looked around the room as a few eyes darted to my younger self and Feli. I couldn't understand until someone spoke up, that someone being a certain albino bastard.

"Which one's which?"

I glared daggers at him- rusty, poison tipped, daggers. France piped up, answering the tactless question. "The one with the scowl is Romano. The cute one's Italy." My scowl dropped instantly, replaced by a face I couldn't quite place.

"How can you tell the difference?"

"Well it's obvious; the one with the sweeter temperament is Italy." Hungary chose this time to add her two euros, looking quite proud of the way she'd been raising Feliciano.

"So, the twin with the potty mouth is Romano?" France nodded. "And the twin with the nice smile is Italy?" Another nod. "Italy is rich in art and trade. Southern Italy is a decent land stake, considering its position."

"Then what's the point of having two of them?" I didn't see who asked it, but no one could answer that.

Feliciano cried, sniffling. Hungary immediately jumped to his defense. "Now look what you've done. You've upset the dear, talking about him as if he were a plot of land himself." She walked around the table to wrap her arms around the sniffling Italian. Prussia scoffed.

"It's not my fault there's an extra to take his place."

_Feliciano had always been better._

This led to Hungary berating Prussia, which led to screaming that ended in a brawl. I never knew a woman could be so scary.

"Oh my... Did you just piss yourself?" The question came from Poland, followed by a look of disbelief.

I was nearly in tears at this point. I had bladder issues for Christ's sake! And the meeting was long… I didn't want to interrupt it.

Spain looked to my younger self in horror and surprise. The bastard should have expected it. He swooped me up, carrying me from the meeting in a whirl of silk cloth. A few barbs followed our swift departure. Something about raising mongrels.

Antonio didn't say a word as he bathed and redressed my younger self. I knew he was disappointed, and that was worse than him being angry. It wasn't until later that night, when I woke screaming that Antonio final spoke to me again.

"Roma, Roma- shh, calm down, I'm here I-" "_No_!" I cut him off, fat, ugly tears barely conrained. "I hate you! I hate you bastard! Go away!" He tried to wrap his arms around me and I lashed out, not the weak hits and kicks I usually gave his affection, but an actual slap. He looked shocked. I was too. Antonio, for once, did as he was told and left me to myself. I followed him, just as I always did.

He didn't go to his room, no, I followed him out of the manner. I followed him as he stepped into Prussia, quickly traveling to his allied country. One of the many perks of being a nation: the ability to jump from country to country in the blink of an eye.

The night was cold, I could tell be Antonio's shivering. Antonio knocked on Prussia's door before letting himself in. Prussia looked mildly surprised to see Antonio there, and so late at night. "Antonio? Vhat are you-"

"Shut up." I was surprised by the anger in Antonio's voice, but Prussia shut up. Antonio didn't break stride as he approached the Prussian, immediately grabbing him by the front of his doublet.

"Let me make something painfully clear to you." He said; I caught traces of that other Antonio in his voice, the one that carved through people like blocks of wood. "There has to be two Italies. One isn't enough. One will _never_ be enough. And if you ever question the existence of that extra one-_ my_ extra one, I'll cut your hairless prick off before you even figure out what it's for."

Prussia didn't respond, it didn't look like he could. Russia would have pissed himself at the look in Antonio's eyes. He let go of his friend, staring at him silently for a solid minute, as if to insure it had gotten through to him.

Antonio left without another word.

The next morning, I was back to my usual, grumpy self, but I knew my feelings had been hurt; I knew I was holding back. I'd decided that it was easier to hide the hurt than let it out. The night before, I'd lashed out at Antonio. I didn't like the person my hurt made me to be. So, I bottled it up. I put up my first wall.

Maybe that's where I went wrong.


	5. Significato

Antonio was such a fool. He was too lenient, too sentimental, too-

When did I start calling him Antonio?

I froze, but Antoni-Spain continued down the hall without me, unaware of my presence to begin with. It must have been the amount of time I'd been spending with him lately. It wasn't like I was getting attached or anything. Bad company was better than none. We emerged from the hall into the sitting room where a younger me was attempting to sweep.

I was just slapping the dirt everywhere. At least I was using the right side of the broom this time...

"Lovi~ Boss has a surprise for you!~" I scowled in response. "You're not my boss damn it." Spain pouted like a child, lopping over to me. He kneeled in front of me and ruffled my hair affectionately, receiving a head-butt in response. He brushed my curl.

"Not cute…" Spain wheezed, holding his stomach. I'd gotten bigger. I scoffed, "Like I give a damn about being cute." They used to be empty words, but lately I had started to put force behind them. I didn't want him to call me cute.

Spain sighed and put a hand over my eyes. "Close your eyes or you won't get it." He added the last part as incentive, knowing I wouldn't listen. I did as he said and he removed his hand, sticking it into his pocket. He produced a thin gold cross, clasping it around my neck. I reopened my eyes to inspect the added weight. My eyes widened curiously as I turned the precious metal over in my hand, watching my reflection.

Spain beamed, clearly proud of his gift. "Do you like it?" "No." I immediately responded. "But...it's nice… I guess." I blushed lightly at my awkward praise. I'd received gifts before, just not from Antonio.

Spain.

He smiled and ruffled my hair again, not receiving a head-butt this time. "But why?" Spain blinked down at me as he stood. "You don't know?" I shook my head. "Today is the day you came to live with me."

"It's our anniversary Lovi!"

That struck something inside of me. Something deep rooted. That damn cross. I remembered it, but I didn't have it anymore. I had thrown it out long ago, after it had gotten old. The chain had broken and the gold had lost its luster. I'd thrown it away the day it lost meaning.

* * *

"I- I don't understand." That was nothing new. My younger self turned his back on an awkwardly gaping Spain, puffing a cheek in mild annoyance. "What's there to understand? I'm leaving. Italy is unifying."

I expected anger, tears, screaming, but not his blank stare. Then he smiled, ruffled his hair and laughed. "I guess it had to happen eventually. Just, promise me you'll be careful?"

"Whatever bastard." And he helped me carry my bags out.

The house Feliciano and I were to share was cold. It was new and richly furnished. Feli was all too happy to help me unpack, chattering away about this and that. He was so excited about all the 'fun' we'd have together now that we were a team.

"Ve~What's this?" I looked over to see Feliciano dangling a piece of string with a cross at the end. I stared hard at it for a minute before snatching it from his hand.

"Junk." I answered sharply before tossing it into the wastebasket. I walked over to the can in the corner, blocking out the sound of my younger self's bickering with Feliciano. I was an amazing shot. It'd landed in a pile of old coffee grinds. I pulled a face and turned back toward myself.

* * *

Then I was behind Spain again, watching him as he walked down the same hall. I blinked in confusion. Had my memories been scratched like an old record and set to repeat? I had a small panic attack. What if I had to watch the same memory over and over again for the rest of eternity?

My worries were washed away though as we entered the same room to find it absent of a certain muttering Italian. Spain stopped for a moment, his eyes panning the room. Then, he continued. We walked through the foyer, cutting into another hall that branched off. I nearly bumped into-well through- him when he suddenly stopped. He'd stopped in front of my door. I briefly wondered if it was night and he was doing his routine check.

I hadn't noticed when I was younger, but Spain always went into my room late at night and sat by my bedside. Sometimes he'd hum, others he'd just sit there, watching me sleep while running his fingers through my hair.

It was creepy.

Spain opened the door and stepped in; I blinked in shock, stepping around him. The room was covered in flowers. They were stacked in piles along the walls, spilling over onto the carpeted floor. Flowers covered every surface. Some were tied in bouquets, some in vases. The strange thing was, they were all withered. I watched as Spain picked the flower currently on the bed up and tossed it into the pile before laying another, freshly picked, flower on it.

Had he lost his mind?

"Happy anniversary Lovi."

Antonio.

There were two things I was afraid of: thunderstorms and being alone. I dreaded the days Antonio would leave, voyaging to new worlds without me as he expanded his empire. He would stay gone months at a time, years even. I'd had Bella and even Lars to keep me company though. Antonio had no one.

When did I start caring?


	6. Rimpianto

"Will you marry me, Romano?"

"Three meals and a siesta-with pasta."

It was a stupid answer to a stupid question. I knew he was joking by the way he said it, but I couldn't deny the thump in my chest as he asked it. Who could blame me? One didn't go to fucking lunch with the person who raised them and expect a proposal. Well, not normally. America might, but who the hell knew what went through his head?

I hovered near myself and Antonio, watching silently. I'd given up on trying to talk to the people around me, but commentary didn't hurt. Too bad I had nothing to say.

Antonio laughed at the response, completely missing the blush that lit up my face, that is, until-"You look just like a tomate!" I slapped his arm reprovingly, throwing in a nasty glare. "I fucking don't!"

We went our separate ways after lunch. I, ever predictable, followed Antonio. Nothing could change his house, not even the passage of time. Sure, it had lost some of its ingenuity and been modernized, but it had the charm and air of refinement that all very old houses seemed to possess. He cut across the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out all the necessary ingredients for a sandwich.

Fat ass.

He dropped the bottle of ketchup, bending over to pick it up.

Never mind.

Antonio replaced the bottle on the counter just as the phone rang. He crossed the kitchen quickly to answer it. "Hola? Hola Frany!" I rolled my eyes at the nickname. I liked it better when they were at each other's throats. I wondered how they would react if they were reminded of that time, when they couldn't turn their back on each other- when they wouldn't dare to.

"Why wouldn't I be home?" He asked with a confused lilt, cutting a tomato for his sandwich. "Lovino's what?"

"You just left him there?!" He dropped the phone, effectively hanging up on the perverted bastard and cutting off whatever he had been about to say.

Sandwich forgotten, Antonio raced back to his car, grabbing his keys as he went. He drove faster than was necessary, than was safe. I could tell be the look in his eyes and jump in his step that he was worried. Green eyes scanned the bar, filled with apprehension and fear.

His stance relaxed as he noticed me talking to some pretty girl. By this time, I was relatively hammered. I'd gone out with Feli, but I hadn't known that Feli would bring along the potato bastard, or the albino bastard would get jealous and tag along, or that France knew and had invited himself. Somehow, I had ended up alone while Feli and Potato bastard went home to do Dio-knows-what.

Antonio smiled and started toward me, and then I leaned in and kissed the girl. She was pretty, with huge tits. She looked to be hanging onto every word I said, and happily returned the kiss, eagerly even.

I am Italian, after all.

Antonio stopped, his brows drawing together in what might have been confusion. I watched with him as I lead the girl into the back. Normally, I would have been proud of myself. Feli may have congratulated me. The perverted bastard would have wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. I thought that Antonio would smirk or smile, or even coo at my accomplishment. He just stared at the door we had left through.

* * *

"Oi, bastard." I had let myself in after the third knock. Antonio wasn't answering it. I flicked the light on in the living room, jumping as Antonio was revealed. He was sitting on the couch, his hands clasped in front of his mouth, a hard set to his face. I'd never seen him look so serious.

"What the hell are you doing in the dark, bastard?" I asked irritably. Antonio looked surprised to see me. I couldn't blame him. I rarely visited.

"Lovi? What are you doing here?" He answered my question with one of his own. I flushed, averting my eyes to an interesting spot on the wall. "Why the hell do you think? Do you even know what fucking day it is?" He blinked in response.

I rolled my eyes. "March seventeenth." His blank stare didn't change. "My birthday. The day Italy was unified. Wring a fucking bell? Geez, how dense can you be?" I demanded.

I caught the flash of sadness in Antonio's eyes, I hadn't before.

"You don't have a birthday."

There was a deafening silence as we stared at each other, me the unlucky observer. My younger self narrowed his eyes. "What the hell do you mean I don't have a birthday?"

"You're not human." He stated bluntly, standing. "The sooner you realize, the better it'll be for everyone." He didn't want me around humans. I didn't understand why.

"You think I don't fucking know that?! Well, news flash bastard, neither are you. I'm more human than you'll ever be! You – you- you dumbass!"

"At least I don't hang off them like some common -!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?! Why are you being such a bastard about this?! You always ruin everything!"

"You always have something to complain about, but you can't do anything right!"

"If I'm such a screw up, then why deal with me?!" I shot back, practically snapping at him.

"Because I couldn't get Veneziano!"

Even I internally flinched at that, my stomach sinking as the memory washed over me. I could hear the regret in his voice at his next words.

"Lovi I-"

"Dio Spain, I hate you! I wish you'd just kill yourself!" I flinched at that. The door slammed behind me; I didn't see the hurt in Antonio's eyes. I never did.

He sat on the couch, his head in his hands as if he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life.

That night, Antonio went into my old room and put a gun to his head.


	7. Atto

My heart stopped, but it wasn't beating.

I threw myself at Antonio, screaming in frustration as I sunk through him. I grasped for him, grappling with the air.

"Spain! Spain- Antonio damn it- don't you do this to me!" I slapped him, angry tears springing to my eyes as my hand traveled through his face. "Por favore! I didn't mean it! I don't want this!" I sunk to the ground at his feet, slamming my fist against the ground, the only thing I could hit.

"Don't you fucking leave me alone!"

The click echoed throughout the room, louder than thunder. I looked up at him, the sound ringing in my ears.

Nothing happened.

The tears didn't stop though. They stubbornly refused to go away, despite the lack of crisis. "Y-you're such an idiot."

Antonio looked to the gun in his hand in surprise. I should have known. He didn't die this day- I'd seen him after it, but watching him even attempt to kill himself scared the hell out of me. I'd lost the ability to think rationally. I was crying, but I couldn't help myself! I lov-

Antonio let out a breath he had been holding, sounding almost relieved. He stared at the gun in his hand, his fingers turning white from how tightly he was gripping it. He threw it across the room in frustration and it went off, the bullet burying itself in the wall rather than his skull.

I stared at it in shock. He'd been so close. I would have died if he'd gone through with it. If it had worked- if Antonio had died- I wouldn't have known what to do. He wasn't a large part of my life, just an important stupid smile and obliviousness were refreshing- annoying- but refreshing.

They were also fake.

He was a happy person by nature, but he had other emotions. He had problems. He could become angry and throw fits and scream and cry. He could put up with me.

I turned my back on everything, but he still managed to smile at the world.

* * *

A week later he was at my door, knocking so hard I thought his hand might fall off. It was a constant drumming, the sound beating against my eardrums. He was trying to annoy me into answering, and he knew it would work.

I snapped the door open with an irritated 'che' and was immediately bombarded with the longest apology of the century. He spoke in such rapid fire Spanish, I couldn't keep up. I knew some, that was inevitable, but I couldn't go head to head with someone from the motherland.

"Will you just slow the fuck down?! Damn, bastard." Did he even breathe?

"Lamento Lovi! I didn't mean it- you know I didn't. You're so very cute and special to me. Por favor don't hate me!" He threw his arms over my shoulders, leaning his dead weight against me.

He was the biggest child in the world.

My face flushed as I was forced to support two hundred pounds of Spaniard. I was still angry and hurt. I'd always been compared to my brother. I wasn't as sweet as him, or as cute, or helpful, or talented. I knew that, but they felt the need to point it out. I'd thought Antonio was different, but in the end, even he prefered Feliciano.

He wanted Feli. He tolerated me.

"God damn it! Fine. Just- get off me." He did and I breathed, rolling my shoulder. "Geez, how much do you weigh?"

"Two hundred and thirty two pounds."

"That was rhetorical."

"Oh."

I frowned. "Are you just going to stand on my patio all fucking day?" He took it as what it was, an invitation. "Gracias Lovi!" He brushed past me and I shut the door behind him, turning to find he had already made himself comfortable on the couch and was staring at me with the most expectant smile on his face. "Che cosa?" He patted the spot next to him and I scowled, walking pointedly to sit in the love seat across from it. I made a show of sitting down, causing him to pout. I crossed my arms stubbornly and turned my attention to the television, leaving him to wallow in rejection.

It didn't last long. Antonio got up and crossed to the love seat, plopping down next to me. I growled and switched over to the couch, he followed. This continued for a while.

"Damn it bastard, quit following me!" I moved to stand but Antonio's hand on my thigh stopped me. I froze, my eyes flickering to it before moving to Antonio's face. It seemed to have gotten closer.

"Por favor Lovino? Just stay with me." I swear his hand moved a quarter of an inch up- almost half an inch. Dios mio.

I blushed at the implications, glancing to his hand again as I settled back into the couch beside him. He didn't move it away. His face broke out into a smile that I hadn't seen in awhile; I missed it.

"Whatever bastard."

"Antonio."

"Che?" I turned my attention to him, blinking in mild confusion.

"Call me Antonio." My blush intensified and for once, I'd agree that I looked like a tomato, but Antonio didn't point it out. His eyes were locked on my face. Human names were personal. They were an identity that marked us as more than just masses of land. I'd never put much thought into when Antonio used mine. He always had. I couldn't see why he would want me to call him by his name. I didn't think it mattered.

"Fine, Antonio. Happy bastard?"

"Ecstatic!" He fucking _chirped_, throwing himself at me. I pushed him away in annoyance. "Just go make me some damn food. I'm fucking starving." I mumbled the order, shoving at his face that was getting _much_ too close for comfort.

He happily complied, going into the kitchen to do my 'bidding'. At least he wasn't a total waste of time. He returned five minutes later with- shocking- a sandwich. There were at least five slices of tomato on it, but I wasn't complaining- for once.

He'd clearly had trouble opening the ketchup bottle, considering there was a glob of it on his forehead. I snorted, holding back a laugh. Antonio's eyes lit up. Oh no.

"Lindo! ~" He cried, tossing the sandwich before throwing himself at me. I was caught off guard as he bowled into me, pushing me back onto the couch. He fucking_ cuddled_ me. "Lovi you're so cute! ~" He rubbed his cheek against mine affectionately and I scowled, shoving at his face as mine lit up. In the confusion and tangle of flailing limbs, something pressed to my lips. Something warm, soft, and moving.

It took me half a minute to realize it was Antonio's mouth. We locked eyes and I shoved him back harshly, sputtering.

"Siento Lovi! It was an accident!" He waved his hands in front of himself defensively, blushing himself.

I stuttered an 'it's fine' and that was it. Then, I realized something. "Did you fucking throw a sandwich onto my cream carpet?!" He blinked.

"No?"

"Antonio you bastard- you had better fucking clean that up before it fucking stains! Dio! I'll kick your ass!" He just smiled.

He'd meant to do it.

Watching from across the room, his actions seemed intentional. He'd moved his head out of the way just in time to dodge a flailing hand and then pressed his lips to mine, a look of conviction in his eyes.

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo had kissed me.

What had I done?

* * *

**I love hearing from readers so regularly! ;7; No, I don't have it all written out, but I do have a general idea of how I want it to play out. It's just a matter of what each chapter should reveal and putting them into words. XD I don't like this chapter, but I never like them so... Understandable.**


	8. Fortunato

**I feel awful. QAQ Lo siento for my lack of activity for the last two days. I truly feel very bad. I always hate waiting for updates, so I try not to make my readers wait for them. As an apology, I'm offering a one shot of your choosing to the first reviewer of this chapter. Again, Lo siento mucho.**

* * *

Have you ever looked in the mirror and thought 'What's wrong with me?' Of course you have, we all have. Unless, you're one of those people like mio fratellino who can look at themselves and see only perfection. You'll look in the mirror and see all of your flaws laid out for you. Your hair is thin, your teeth are crooked, you have a mole, you're not as thin as her or as fit as him. But that's okay. You still have your personality.

You're the lucky ones.

I can't look in the mirror and see perfection, and I don't have personality to back up my looks. I'm not hideous, but I'm not handsome. I curse worse than a sailor, treat everyone like shit, and scowl at everything. Everyone hates me. Well, not everyone… I know that now.

* * *

I stared hard at Antonio's back, too afraid to look him in the eyes. I was afraid of what I'd see their.

"Lovi you shouldn't do that, your face will freeze!"

I almost thought he was talking to me. He was, but the me then. We were having coffee and I'd apparently gotten something other than espresso. The world meeting was in America that year. I could tell by the overpriced snacks. Starbucks was the only store I would ever trust to make my coffee other than me, and they'd wronged me.

"I hope it fucking does! Fucking dumbass Americans!" That earned me more than a few glares and a hush from Antonio. There was a pair of exceedingly large men now staring at us. They didn't look happy and one of them had a tattoo of the American flag on his left arm.

"Lovi you shouldn't say things like that, it's racist." I snorted but didn't correct him. I was racist, and damn proud of it. If you were German you fucking sucked, case closed. If you were American, you were a fucking idiot. If you were Spanish you probably smiled way too fucking much and didn't know when to shut up. If you're English, mi dispiace. If you were anything other than Italian, then you were probably screwed up in some way.

"We should probably get back before the meeting starts." We were downstairs. We had time. I Hmphed and continued playing whatever game was on my phone while Antonio finished his coffee. I was not drinking mine. If they wanted to screw it up, they could clean it up.

"Lovi, you should drink your café."

" Hmm."

"Lovi drink your café."

"Hmm."

"Lovi."

"I said 'Hmm', bastard!" I threw the paper cup of _not espresso_ across the table at him. I missed and hit one of those fat ass Americans. He stood, glowering at me as he stepped out of his booth. He was buff as fuck. I know I'm a man- a manly man!- but this guy looked like he could snap my neck with his bicep.

It took two security guards and Antonio to hold the man back. He was lucky they were there to protect him.

"I don't see why you had to call him a vagina Lovi." Antonio said as we walked into the meeting room. A few of the other nations were already there. They were sitting around, conversing, or making out. I'm not going into detail with that one.

"Because bastard." Antonio said something about that not counting as a real answer but I tuned him out, taking my seat. More nations filed in as Potato bastard called the meeting to order. Antonio took a seat beside me. He looked happier than usual, which confused me until I noticed that Feli had taken a seat on his other side. The bastards dream had finally come true. He was between both Italies.

"Hola Feli!"

"Ciao big brother Spain!" Feliciano managed to complete a sentence without a 've'. I was impressed. "Fratello!" Feliciano was leaning over the table to look around Spain at me.

"Are you going to the party?" What party? I must have looked confused because he answered my silent question. "America is throwing one tonight after the meeting." Oh fuck no. I didn't want to go to any dumb ass American party. They were stupid enough sober, I didn't need to meet drunken America. The younger me shuddered.

"Si! We'd love to go!" Feli smiled at the acceptance. Since when had Spain become the voice for both of us? "Wait a damn minute; I don't want to go to a fucking party."

"But Lovi, it'll be fun!" Antonio whined. "Fuck no."

"Por favore fratello?" Feli gave me the saddest face he could. His fucking lip was quivering. I groaned and slammed my forehead against the table. "Vaffanculo." They took it as a yes.

A few nations had turned their head to see what the commotion was about. My younger self flipped them the bird without looking up.

Potato bastard's face contorted in annoyance, or acid reflux. You can't really tell with him.

* * *

I was in hell. The nations, who had been making out before, were practically having sex with their faces. The music was much too loud and the lights too dim. This wasn't just a party for nations; there were humans there as well. It was too crowded. Five different people stepped on my foot. Those shoes were fucking Gucci! I couldn't find Antonio or Feliciano, and neither could my younger self. So, I followed him- me.

I had found a secluded spot in a dark corner, free of couples trying to get into each other's pants. Then, someone bumped into me, almost spilling his beer on me. "Kesese, Entschuldigung!" Albino bastard shouted in my ear. I just growled at him.

"What's with that look Roma?" He asked, the smirk never leaving his face. "Aren't you having fun?~" Still, no response. "I know what'll loosen you up." Did he now? Potato bastard number two grabbed a beer from a passing man, initiating a disgruntled curse from the man. He held it out to me.

"I'm not drinking that shit."

"Vhat? Can't handle a little alcohol? Or, are you scared?" He asked, sloshing the beer around in front of me while 'kesese-ing'.Was that his laugh? Wow. That's… That's fucked up.

I was not about to be insulted by someone I considered German, so, I snatched the beer from his hand. "I'm not afraid of anything, bastardo." I declared (whined) before taking a swig. My face screwed up at the taste. It was nothing like wine, but I couldn't let myself be outdone by some stronzo.

Two beers in, I was matching pace with Prussia. We had somehow become engaged in a one on one drink off. I don't care what anyone says, I was fucking winning. I don't know what I had been thinking, but I threw my third beer over my shoulder, laughing at something albino bastard had whispered in my ear before kissing him. It wasn't a peck on the cheek, or something I could stomach.

He had pulled me into one of the chairs, his hands on my hips. My arms were flung over his shoulders lazily as our tongues danced outside our mouths, tangling. Saliva dripped down my chin as Gilbert grinded into me. I moaned.

"Vant to take this somewhere more private?" I nodded.

Gilbert led me down the hall by my hand. I was laughing like an idiot and apologizing to furniture. I was fucked up. I apologized again, but this time it wasn't furniture. My younger self looked up to see Antonio, blinking in confusion at my and Gilbert's connected hands. "Uh.. Lovi?"

Apparently, I had not lost all my sense, because I snapped at him. "Watch where you're fucking going bastard!" I was louder than I had meant to be. Antonio looked toward me before his eyes flickered back to my hand as it was tugged sharply. Albino bastard was getting impatient. I let him pull me along a little before I was forced to stop. Antonio had grabbed my other hand.

"What are you doing?"

I looked confused for a quarter of a second before my face morphed back into a scowl. "What does it look like I'm doing, bastard?" I yanked my wrist from his grasp, walking after Prussia. He grabbed it again.

"Lovino!"

"What the fuck?!" I yelled, ripping my wrist back once more. I glared at him in mixed annoyance and confusion.

"Are you drunk?" I shook my head, giving him the 'are you stupid?' look, though I was. At least, I hope I was. "Then what are you doing?" He'd already asked that; I wasn't in the mood for explaining it to him, or maybe I didn't know myself. My look didn't change and Antonio smiled. "Come on Lovi, lets go get you some coffee. You're probably not having fun, si?" He looked almost hopeful.

"I'm busy. Fuck off." I growled it over my shoulder, walking into the empty bedroom, Prussia closed the door behind me.

I didn't go in with them. I stayed with Antonio. His face had morphed into something akin to shock before anger, then finally, nothing. He put his smile back on and went out to mingle with the others. He didn't stay long.

I sat beside Antonio in the passenger seat of his car. He was just sitting there, staring at nothing. Some Spanish song I could barely understand was playing, but he didn't seem to be listening. Suddenly, Antonio slammed his hands on the steering wheel.

"Damn it." I was shocked, to say the least. I couldn't remember a time when I'd heard Antonio curse.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" He repeated as he banged his fists on the dash. "How could he do this to me?"

"I don't know."

Antonio was staring at the picture of me he kept lodged into the crack of the visor beside the gas gauge. He must have taken it by surprise, because I was angry, my eyes wide in indignation. "I hate you." He murmured, straightening its crinkled edge. He didn't hate me. The way Antonio claimed to, made it sound as if he had never felt closer to it. He looked regretful, even though he had said it to a picture. He corrected himself.

"I hate that I love you."

I did too. I wished he could hate me. I wished he could see all of my flaws. I wished that he would realize there was nothing good about me and move on to someone who deserved his attention. Antonio was one of the lucky ones; he could see the perfections in everyone.


	9. Fratricidio

I hated myself most. Hell, I still do, and I don't know why but I couldn't love Antonio. I couldn't and it was for him, not for me, for him.

Truthfully, I was sick of myself. So, I made it my duty to avoid myself- however fucked up that sounds.

I'd royally fucked up. I knew the morning that followed was hell and I wasn't willing to relive that. My outright refusal didn't make much of a difference. One blink and I was thrown into another time and place.

At first, I thought it was another meeting but there weren't enough nations present. It must have been something personal, but I couldn't-

"Happy birthday!" The shout rang throughout the room in several different languages. All were directed toward the, lucky, soul who had just walked through the door.

Feli.

He blinked, actually opening his eyes in surprise. Don't ask me why he keeps them closed, I don't know. It seems pretty damn dangerous walking around with them closed. He has really nice chocolate eyes, so I don't know why the hell he wants to keep them hidden. I once asked him if he was embarrassed by them or something. He told me he kept them closed because 'it was cuter'. I couldn't see the logic in it.

Feliciano launched himself at potato bastard, wrapping his arms around him. I wanted to gag. That bastard was just trying to take advantage of mio fratellino. I know how German's are!

"Grazie Luddy! Grazie!" It took me a moment to figure out what the 'grazie' was about. It took me even longer to get over my suddenly upset stomach.

It was his birthday, well, our birthday. Feli and I weren't twins, but we shared a birthday- I was the oldest, and I didn't let him forget it.

"Ja, ja…" The bastard was blushing more than I would, which is easy because I don't blush. Then, it hit me. I wasn't there. Why wasn't I there? I scanned the gathered faces.

America, England, Japan, Cuba, Canada and his bear, France (who the hell thought that was a good idea?), Hungary, Austria, some bastard with a ponytail, and a rather pretty girl with glasses. I was pleased to see Antonio wasn't there. I mean, I was glad he wasn't anywhere near that French bastard, because he was dangerous and you never know what those two will do if they get-um- drunk or angry and-yeah… I didn't really care.

The party went by as most do. Dancing, presents, chatter and cake. There was even gelato and pasta. I really wanted some of the gelato. I hovered near Feli and the potato bastard for security purposes.

"Vhy didn't Romano come with you?" Eww. He said my name. His accent made it sound almost as fucked up as he was.

"Fratellone said he didn't want to." No, I didn't. I would have remembered turning down an invitation to my own birthday party. I would have made it bitchier too.

"Oh." Germany accepted the answer with a nod, rushing off to try and stop albino bastard from spiking the punch. I didn't miss the smile mio fratello gave Germany's back. Why wouldn't Feli want to tell me? Did I do something to him? Sure, I was mean to him…usually. But I was nicer to him than I was to anyone else. Of course I was! He was, well, mio fratellino. I had to be.

Feli and potato bastard didn't go home together because someone had to escort drunk-off-his-ass albino bastard home or he'd lite someone's car on fire. Roderick looked worried.

"Ve~ Fratello, I'm home!" There was no answer, meaning I was either asleep, or at Antonio's. Feliciano poked his head in my door only to find a made bed. "Fratello?" The dumbass. Where did he think I was, in the pillow?

Feli pouted and continued down the hall. He stopped at my study. It was our study, but he had no reason to use it. I handled the political part of our job. Feli wasn't good with numbers. He didn't continue past my study upon discovering I wasn't there as I expected him to, no, he went in. Feliciano made a beeline for my desk, plopping himself down in the pivotal chair.

For a second, I thought he was just going to spin around in it. It seemed like something he would do.

Feliciano started rummaging through the papers stacked on my desk. I couldn't comprehend what was happening. Sure, I was aware that Feli had just as much right to the papers on my desk as I did, it was just that I didn't think he cared. As frightening as it was, I didn't trust him in that moment. There was something determined in his eyes, something dangerously close to a look I had seen once before. I had tried to make pasta…

Apparently, Feliciano found what he had been looking for. It was a stack of correspondence letters and documents from, surprisingly enough, Germany's boss. I didn't remember those papers, and as soon as I saw Feli fold them up and slip them into his pocket, I knew why.

Why would Feli steal papers from my office?

It hit me harder than the time I was smacked in the back by a chair Denmark had thrown at Sweden.

I was wrong; I hated mio fratello most.


	10. Colpa

**A/N: So, my wifi was being it's usual bitchy self and I couldn't update. XD Lo siento y gracias por su paciencia. ;3; ( I accidentally lapsed into spanish, but I'm not going to change it. =u= )**

**Disclaimer: If it was mine, your parents would worry for you.**

* * *

"You bastard!" The outburst didn't come from me, not this time.

France and England were working very hard to constrain a rabid Alfred. The American looked beyond furious.

If you'd ever known an American, you'd know they're very patriotic. They had the largest celebrations, greasiest food, and craziest parties. They loved their country, their people, and their land.

Like wolves, they had a pack mentality; I was a dead man walking.

Bombs had been planted and detonated in the American embassy and consulates of Palermo, Rome and Naples. It had Americans in an uproar. The bombings were followed by strangely strategic assassination attempts on the secretary of state during his recent trip to Florence. It was supposed to be a personal vacation, but it ended in the death of his wife and youngest son. An emergency meeting of congress had been called to discuss the 'terroristic acts'. I wasn't a terrorist. I didn't want to hurt anyone.

America had officially declared war on Italy.

It was beyond my grasp at the time. I didn't know why the usually hyper, happy American had launched himself across the meeting table to get at my throat. Even after a shaky England had explained the most recent occurrences to me, I didn't believe it.

It took less than a month.

When countries go to war, tensions rise. We personifications weren't allowed to kill one another, but the malice was there in fleeting glances and biting remarks.

If only it had stopped there.

Two weeks later, Switzerland was invaded by allied Italian and German forces. No one saw it coming, not even me. Switzerland was neutral, well, it was supposed to be. I hadn't agreed to a rendezvous or any of the alleged attacks, but they were happening. I couldn't deny it any longer, so, I immersed myself in it. Belgium was quick in announcing its neutrality, followed by Holland.

Liechtenstein was secured for strategic armory purposes. France was growing restless, its citizens fearing a repeat of the Second World War. It wasn't like the Second World War though, it was random. There was no one race being targeted, no power crazed man looking to conquer the world. It was war for war's sake.

Anger bred hatred, hatred bred violence, and violence bred anger. It was an endless cycle, pulling nearly every nation into its dance. If you didn't know the steps, you tripped and were walked all over. There was no such thing as neutrality. It wasn't allowed.

Belgian forces had allied with the German-Italian forces, sweeping across Europe. Russia remained secure, the German generals too hesitant to risk an invasion of the global superpower. Planes were sent to scour the frozen nation, picking out key locations.

* * *

I didn't want to go to the meeting. I was in the middle of a war with nearly half the room.

I could see there whispers cutting through me, making me antsy. I cast several glances over my shoulder, on edge. Antonio's presence by my side was comforting. Nothing would happen to me if he was there…not while he was there.

The meeting proceeded so much more stiffly. You could cut through the tension in the room. My eyes drifted over the faces. Quite a few were regarding me in abject hate. America was the worst. There was no doubt in my mind he, if given the chance, would put a knife in my back.

There were two Italies.

Feliciano and I were both Italy. He the northern half, me the southern, but we were _both_ Italy. No one recognized that. Even though they might say they did, unconsciously, they didn't. When there was some semblance of peace in the world, no one cared about me. They loved Feli. They pampered him, coddled him, and gushed over him. They ignored me.

Everyone loved Italy. They loved Feliciano, because he was Italy. But now, everyone hated Italy, so, they hated me. I was Italy too (I always had been) but it had never been so convenient for them. Who could hate, attack, beat, or rape Feli? He was so cute, so sweet. I wasn't cute or sweet. I could be hated, attacked, beaten… They could take out their anger on me.

I'd finally gotten my wish; they acknowledged me as something other than 'the southern part' or Feli's brother. I was finally Romano Italia, and I was hated for it.

I wanted to be ignored.

I sunk further down into my chair with every report, trying to escape the increasingly accusing stares, the passive insults, the heartfelt declarations of hate. I didn't notice Antonio's back straighten beside me.

"-One particular detonation succeeded in leveling a hospital near the American-operated radar base in Ramsbury. I regret to inform you that none made it out...alive." England's voice was venomous, his eyes accusing as they sought mine out.

"I hope you're proud of yourself."

"Pride had nothing to do with it." All eyes that had previously been flickering between England and myself swiveled to Antonio. I could tell by some of their expressions, this was the first time they'd seen him with anything other than a smile on his face.

"You'd do well to remember that, Arturo."

"You'd do well to retain that pathetic neutrality, you're so proud of, while you can." Two sets of green eyed glares were locked in dangerous contemplation.

"Arturo, if you have a problem with me, then by all means compadre-"

"Oh shut your bloody trap you wanker. You're just trying to defend the sick bastard! He couldn't live with being ignored, the inconsequential wanker, he had to start a bloody war!"

The room went quiet, even more so than before the argument had begun. A thick chill swept over the room, worse than the time America had called Russia a 'Commie'. I didn't dare look anywhere other than the floor, too afraid of what I would see.

"We all make mistakes, Arturo, but if you make the mistake of saying something so untrue again... I'll score your eyes out with your bloody nails and shove them down your throat so you can watch me rip your esophagus out." He finished with his usual cheery smile, contrasting perfectly with the look in his eyes. Antonio wasn't a conquistador anymore, but he could still invoke the same unquestionable respect (fear) that he could during the inquisition.

He was doing it again. Just like when I was younger, he was taking all of the barbs thrown at me in stride. He was prepared to be my rock. He wanted me to lean on him, to be there for me. He met the eyes I avoided, glaring back with just as much spite. He bit into his tongue with each word spoken against Italy, trying to remain neutral in the debates. He'd already failed..

England didn't look at me; it was because Antonio was there to hold his gaze. He kept those hateful acidic eyes off of me, distracting them.

London had been bombed the day before; Big Ben wasn't so big anymore.

* * *

I'd leveled a hospital. There were children and elderly and mothers who would never hold their bambino's, who would never hear their child cry. People who were learning to walk and function again, people stronger than me. I'd killed them in the most devastating way possible. Crushed and burned to death by a crumbling building. They must have tried to escape, must have screamed and scrambled, abandoning those who couldn't leave their bed. It was all in vain. They would die too. They did die. I could still see their faces, charred and misshapen. Their eyeless sockets trained on me.

I was a murderer.

"Are you alright Lovi?" Antonio's voice was worried, his gaze sympathetic as he wrapped an arm around my hunched shoulders.

"Fine." I wasn't fine. I was dying on the inside. I wanted to scream and cry and beg for forgiveness all at once.

"No you're not. Come on, Boss will get you something to eat. Why don't you stay with me for a few days?"

"I don't want to." I did now. I wanted to wrap my arms around him too and never let go. I wanted to throw myself at him. I would have pleaded guilty to every haynes crime imaginable if I could just touch him.

"You're not going to make things better by blocking everyone out." I turned to him, surprised by his straightforwardness.

"You're wrong."

"About what, Lovi?"

"I don't know, everything, bastard! S-shut up! Just… Just leave me alone." I hated how broken I sounded.

"I'm here if you need me." He promised, smiling cheerfully at me. I hesitated then shrugged him off in what looked like annoyance.

"I won't."

I did. I was surprised by how many lies came out of my mouth. Everything I said was said with something else in mind. What might happen, what could happen, never what was. I should have told him the truth. Antonio didn't follow me as I walked away.

I should have looked back. I would have seen how fake his smile was.


	11. Lutto

Twelve anonymous notes said I was better off dead; I believed them.

I watched as I looked at myself in the mirror. Immediately, I knew something was off. I usually avoided mirrors.

I splashed water onto my face, as if I was trying to wake up. It was long past noon. I leaned precariously against the door frame of the bathroom, staring across my bedroom.

It didn't feel like my bedroom anymore; it didn't feel like my home. It was just a place I slept and ate. Homes were supposed to be warm and inviting, a place for you to relax, or spent time, with loved ones. Friends, family, that was what made a home. I had neither; it only seemed natural that I would die in such a dank, lonely space. I would always be alone. I'd scared everyone away. No one would care.

The rope hung lazily from a hook I had drilled into the ceiling long ago. It made me question how long I'd been considering this. Hanging seemed like the best choice. I'd considered overdose and slitting my wrists, but they had both seemed too messy. I wanted to do it right.

You only get one chance to die.

I crossed the room slowly, stepping onto the stool. I'd never tied anything other than my shoe before, but tying a noose was easier than I'd expected. It fit so perfectly around my neck, it strengthened my resolve.

I couldn't find a reason to live. My life was nothing but pain, anger, hate, and cruelty. What better way to end it, than in death? I wanted it to be over with, but I was a coward. I was afraid it would hurt.

It did.

I watched my limp body swing. I'd kicked and screamed as if I was being murdered. I'd choked, tearing at the rope around my neck. I'd hoped my neck would snap.

Nations were nearly impossible to kill. It took an hour for me to choke to death.

I don't know how long I stood there, staring into my lifeless, bloodshot eyes. It almost looked like I'd been crying. The seconds seemed to blend together, turning into hours.

Was it worth it?

I didn't know anymore. Before, I would have said this was what I wanted. This was what I needed. I had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. I'd finally be free. No more trials or problems… It was perfect.

Almost.

* * *

I liked to think it was a sixth sense, some strange connection we didn't know we shared, that brought Antonio to me. He would be the one to find my body. Dio had such a sick sense of humor.

He pushed the door open, squinting into the dim light. "Lovi?" His eyes followed the staggering form in the darkness. "What are you doing in the dark?" His voice held a laugh as he felt along the wall for the light switch. He found it.

It must have taken Antonio's eyes a moment to adjust to the light, because not a minute later, he was on the ground. His knees had given way underneath him. He stared, unbelieving.

"Lovi?" He asked as if he thought I might wake up. Then, he screamed. It ripped at my heart. There are several stages of grief. First denial, then anger, and finally regret. The tears came. Antonio threw himself onto my pivoting body, tearing at the rope. He was trying to undo it, trying to get me down.

Suicide was a sin.

He ripped me down. My limp body collapsed into his arms and he fell with it. He rocked me back and forth, like a mother trying to lull her distraught babe.

"No, no, no, no, no…" A familiar choked sob split the air. I could almost feel him. No became his mantra. He shook his head, his eyes unblinking as they stared into mine.

He brushed the hair way from my face, patting my cheek. "Wake up. Lovi. Lovi wake up!" He pressed his lips to mine, breathing for me. He pressed on my chest, repeating the steps as he tried to get my heart started again. He gave up, settling for pulling me back into his chest, curling around my limp form.

"Siento. I'm so sorry. I should have- If I'd... You wouldn't… You're going to be fine Lovi. Boss is here now. I'll make it better. We can talk about this, por favor. I-I'm not angry. No one's angry. You'll see. If you just wake up…"

I wasn't waking up. I wasn't breathing. Why couldn't he see that? Antonio pleaded with my blank stare for hours, his argument unwavering. I wouldn't be in trouble. I'd be fine. He'd protect me. He just wanted me to stay with him. He promised me anything.

"Ti amo." I could admit it now. While looking down on his crumpled, desperate form, I could admit I loved him. Maybe I always had. If I could redo it, I wouldn't have gone through with it. I would have called Antonio and told him I loved him. He would have forgiven me. He wouldn't have cared that Italy had bombed Spain because I was more than Italy to him. I was Lovino. I was his friend and confidant. He loved me.

"Wake up damn it! Lovino this isn't funny! If you're joking-! Lovi please." He muffled his sobs into my hair, rubbing his cheek against mine. It was the third time I saw Antonio cry. His tears smeared across my cheek. "You're still warm."

Finally, Antonio could hold me without my struggling.


	12. Indietro

Antonio didn't go to my funeral.

I think it may have been his nerves. He didn't want to accept that I was dead. He wanted to- no, _needed_ to have some semblance of a hope that maybe, just maybe, I was alive… somewhere.

Antonio didn't lose his mind or revert to some obsessive eating disorder. He seemed almost unaffected, but I knew better. He was doing the same thing I had: hiding his pain.

Francis stirred his drink slowly, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. "You should have gone." Antonio just shook his head, his smile vague. "He would have wanted you to." This time, Antonio sighed, leaning his head against his hand. Who did that fucker think he was? Like he knew what I would want… Okay he was right, but he didn't know that!

Antonio let out a dry laugh, flicking a toothpick across the bar. "Lovi would have told me to stay away." He was right, I would have… But with more curse words. Antonio flicked another toothpick, hitting a waitress this time. Francis took away his arsenal.

"How about a drink?"

"I gave it up." Francis furrowed a brow, looking at Antonio like he had just grown a second head. Figures the perverted bastard couldn't fathom the idea of someone _not_ wanting alcohol. Alcohol made everything better.

"Lovi didn't like it when I drank." Antonio elaborated, trying to snatch the box of toothpicks back. Francis's mouth made a small 'o' shape and he gave Antonio the toothpicks back, looking at Antonio worriedly. Antonio looked at his watch, shaking it, before giving up and checking the clock on the wall.

"I have to go, Feli invited me to dinner." Francis raised the eyebrow he had furrowed. He looked like he wanted to ask something, but must have thought better of it. Antonio threw his jacket back on, setting his money on the counter.

"That's too much." At least the waitress was honest. She still looked peeved at Antonio though.

"I'm paying off my tab." He had tab that big? Damn, the bastard did drink. Francis looked between the departing waitress, probably checking out her ass, and Antonio. Antonio stood to leave, but Francis seized his wrist, forcing him to listen.

"You know I didn't blame him."

I was surprised, to say the least. I was so sure that Francis would blame me, not because he was that type of person. I thought that France would be more inclined to support Eyebrows, I mean, he was fucking the guy. Given, it was an unusual relationship. He was right not to blame me. I didn't even blame myself anymore. I knew who to blame now and I could only hope that one day, so too would everyone else. But hope never got anyone anywhere. If I wanted results,I'd have to get them myself.

I don't know what it was, but something in Antonio's eyes made Francis let go. I felt strangely grateful toward the French bastard. He was a perverted fucker, but he was also a good friend. Antonio sent the Frenchman a two fingered salute as he shouldered his way out of the bar.

* * *

I could see how hard it was for Antonio to go back to my house. He hesitated on the doorstep before knocking. No one answered, so he knocked again, harder this time. I cursed under my breath. Feli wasn't home; he must have gotten caught up with potato bastard.

This was it. This was what I alone in my house with an insatiable curiosity. I knew Antonio; I knew he couldn't resist the unknown.

I couldn't touch people. I couldn't talk to them, but I could walk. I could feel my feet touch the floor and bump into things. I could touch things. I gripped the doorknob, clutching it as tightly as I could, but it felt like a feather in my hand. I pulled, yanking it, twisting until my wrist felt like it would break. There was the barest of clicks.

Antonio knocked again, pushing the already jared door open. He looked surprised, but stepped inside, peeking around it.

"Feli?" His voice carried and he followed it, walking cautiously down the hall. His footsteps echoed against the hardwood floor. "Germany?" Again, no answer. He rounded the corner, pausing by my study to peak in, before moving past it. He seemed uneasy; he had every right to be.

The idiot actually checked the cookie jar.

Antonio finally stopped by Feli's bedroom, checking the knob. I seriously hoped he didn't expect Feli and Potato bastard to be…ew. Antonio pushed the door open and stepped inside. It was the only place he hadn't checked and he looked more than confused. He shook out his hair and jumped three inches into the air, his eyes whipping around the room.

I'd tried moving it, pushing as hard as I could, but it barely shook. So I roundhouse kicked it. Maybe I'd overdone it. Antonio looked afraid, which was understandable. Lamps didn't just fly across the room and crash into the wall on their own.

Antonio stepped hesitantly over to the lamp, nudging the shards with his foot before looking up. He scanned the ceiling, looking for some change in those lights. His logic: Maybe it was a bulb malfunction.

"Lovino?"

My heart leapt and I allowed myself a moment of victory. If I could, I would have kissed the bastard… maybe, probably not.

"Si! Damn you Antonio, yes!"

He still couldn't hear me; my hopes came crashing down around me. I threw a fit, screaming and all. I slammed my foot into that damnable nightstand repeatedly. If I had been alive, my foot would have broken.

Antonio's eyes were locked on the vibrating nightstand, his eyes panning the area around it. He looked directly at me twice. I managed a smile. Tears sprang to his eyes and he laughed, rubbing stubbornly at them. His laugh wasn't dry this time. It sounded surprised, confused more than anything, and happy.

"Dios I don't know if I'm going crazy," He wasn't and I wanted to tell him. To tell him he was right and I was there. I wanted to tell him to look in the fucking nightstand! Of course he wouldn't check it; he was too busy blubbering at me.

"-and I know you must have felt alone and scared, but you weren't! I don't blame you Lovi. I love you. You may not be listening, but I do. Te quiero, Ti amo, I love you." He laughed again. "I'll say it in as many languages as you want me to."

"One's enough."

"Can you hear me?" I felt there. Well, I was, but I don't know how to explain it. I felt there, like I was standing in the room. It had always been a hollow, floating feeling but now I felt like someone had tied weights to my feet, dragging me to the bottom.

"Look."

"Give me some kind of a sign, Lovi, por favor."

"Look!"

"If you're-"

"**Fucking look**!"

There was a shocked silence and then Antonio broke out into a grin that could have split his face. He looked happier than a chicken in a swarm full of June-bugs. When did I become American?

Then the confusion was back and he was scanning the area around the nightstand. "Look? Look, look, look…" He mumbled to himself, approaching the stand as if it were a motion activated bomb. He slid the drawer open and pulled out the bound manila folder, looking it over. There was a slam deeper in the house, followed by voices. Antonio slipped the folder into his jacket before zipping it up, closing the drawer as a last thought. He stepped out of the room just as Feli walked down the hall, Germany taking his coat off for him. They were laughing about something, well Feli was. Germany was just shaking his head 'amusedly'.

"Tonio?" Feli looked surprised to see him, before it clicked. "Ve~ I almost forgot about dinner!" Antonio shook his head quickly, waving it off. "It's bein, really. I have somewhere I need to be though." Feli pouted slightly before conceding, his attention jumping.

"What were you doing in my room?"

Antonio looked over his shoulder at the room he had just left. I liked to think he was looking at me. "I uh… had to go to the bathroom." Feli blinked, tilting his head cutely in confusion.

"But why didn't you-"

"I didn't want to walk past that room." Feli's eyes widened and Germany coughed into his fist. "Oh. Mi dispiace Tonio…" Feli looked genuinely upset about having brought up such a sensitive subject. Shouldn't he have been more affected by it? Antonio offered them both a smile, adjusting his jacket as he shouldered his way past Germany.

"Are you sure you can't stay for dinner? We still have that proposition to talk about- is what Germany said. Ve~?"

"Lamento, but I really have to go."

"Where?"

Antonio cast a glance over his shoulder at mio fratello, smiling disarmingly. He winked cheekily over Feli's shoulder. Germany blushed, thinking it was at him. I don't even want to go there. I raised an eyebrow at him from my place beside the macho potato.

"To have a drink with Francis."


	13. Resuelto

**The last ch****apter is always the hardest. ;~;**

**Disclaimer****: Oh, I definitely own hetalia. I also have three wives, a gold plated toilet, and a talking armadillo named Ronaldo.**

* * *

I felt proud, well, proud and anxious.

The night before, he'd read through the files. His face had been blank throughout the papers, impassive as he flipped each one. I watched him carefully, gauging him. He didn't even look surprised. Then, Antonio set the papers on his nightstand, flicked off his light, and went to sleep. I blinked. Was he fucking serious?

* * *

The nations filed into the meeting room one after the other. It seemed calmer. Everyone was talking civilly, the tension from the last meeting gone. There were even a few good tempered laughs. Maybe the war was winding down. Italy had never been very good at warfare, and with the Italian army dwindling, and German soldiers losing moral, other countries had recalled their positions, breaking ties swiftly. Belgium had finally gained its neutrality.

Antonio was tense, ignoring Francis's attempts to get a reaction out of him. His mouth was set in a hard line, eyebrows furrowed. Belgium noticed the change but brushed it off, attributing it to my death, no doubt.

The meeting went on, nations rising, giving their reports and sitting down. Hungary and Potato bastard number two argued about something for the duration of Prussia's report. Switzerland had to shoot at them to get them to shut up. Luckily, Liechtenstein had been there to convince her brother not to shoot the albino bastard. He blushed as she patted his arm. He'd realize why in a few years when she filled out.

I hovered behind Antonio, standing sentry with my arms crossed. I had an idea as to what he was going to do, and I was worried for him. I couldn't be sure of the reactions he would invoke.

Finally, it was Antonio's turn. He stood, the chair squealing as it slid against the mahogany floor. He stood there silently for a solid minute, his face unreadable. I thought for a moment he might just sit back down. Antonio reached into the opened the folder in front of him, pulling out the bound papers before throwing them on the meeting table decisively.

It was silent, a few nations glancing to each other. There was a quiet murmur amongst them, Antonio fuming silently, fists clenched. He picked up his chair and threw it across the room, the wood splintering on impact.

"Open it!"

Finally, England reached across the table with a shaking hand. He slid the rubber band off, glancing to Antonio apprehensively. He read the first paper, thick brows drawn together. He flipped through the rest swiftly, barely glancing over them. He threw each paper onto the table as he finished it. America, with his insatiable curiosity picked them up as England set them down, reading a step behind Eyebrows.

England set the last paper on the table, looking back up at Antonio. "Anthony, would you like to explain to me why you brought the files for Italy's agreement to align with Germany in its recent campaign?"

Antonio's chest heaved as he attempted to keep his calm, trembling with pent up rage. "Read the signature."

Feliciano's eyes widened and snapped from Antonio, to Germany, then England. He chewed his bottom lip, leg bouncing under the table. England reread the signature; America read it over his shoulder. The American froze, his face draining of color. He stumbled away from the table to lean against the wall, a few eyes following him. He was visibly shaken, shoulders sagging. He pressed his forehead into the wall, hitting it repeatedly with his fist, his teeth grinding together. They'd never seen America cry, and they wouldn't today.

England looked worried, but kept his gaze on Antonio, raising an eyebrow condescendingly. "It's Italy's signature."

I waited for hell to break loose, but nothing happened. There was general confusion amongst the nations, a few whispers of Antonio having lost his mind surfacing.

"Well?" Antonio's voice was anxious, his eyes narrowed and searching.

"Vell vhat?" Germany's voice broke in as he stood, walking around the table to place a steadying hand on Antonio's shoulder, voicing the shared confusion. He looked concerned for Antonio's mental health. "Of course Italy signed the papers." The words registered slowly, then the hell I'd been expecting surfaced from the most unexpected place. Antonio rounded on the German, and before I knew it Germany was a few paces back, hand to his split lip.

Antonio had punched him.

"You bastard!" I almost thought I had accidentally possessed him. Confusion turned to shock, and then anger as the German nursed his lip. Feliciano had shot out of his seat and was at the German's side, fretting over him.

"What has gotten into you?!" England demanded, standing.

"You blamed him! You blamed him you filthy hijo de puta!" Antonio shot across the table to get at England, but Francis held him back, wrapping his arms around Antonio's middle to restrain him. England took a step back at the outburst, eyes wide. "Me?"

"Everyone!" Antonio was out of control. There was no stopping him at this point; I could only watch as every wall came crumbling. "You ridiculed him! You crushed him piece by piece until there was nothing left for me to love! He hated himself, did you know that?! Did you?!"

"Antoine, calm down! You're going to hurt yourself!" Francis shouted over his curses, struggling with the fighting Spaniard. Antonio's eyes were hollow, pupils nothing but specks.

"Let me go!" Antonio's broke free, that herculean strength rising to the surface. Francis was shocked, falling backwards onto his ass. I thought he'd go for England, but he didn't.

Feliciano never stood a chance.

Antonio's hand wrapped around his neck, mio fratello's back slamming into the wall. He kicked his feet, clawing at Antonio's hand. His eyes were open, wide in fear and trepidation.

"Why didn't you defend him? Why didn't you take the blame for your mistake?" Feliciano was silent, his eyes pleading. "Answer me you selfish prick!" Antonio shook him, Feliciano's head slapping against the wall. Frightened tears gathered in his eyes and beaded down his flushed cheeks.

"Th-they already hated him, s-so it didn't m-matter! I-I didn't want to be, to be h-hated! Mi d-dispiace!" He was sobbing by this point. Finally, Francis was knocked from his shocked stupor. He, along with Lars, pulled Antonio off of my crying fratello.

America hadn't said a word. He'd stared at the floor shamefully throughout the experience, blocking everyone out, but when he looked up he glared at Feliciano with enough malice to kill a man.

Feliciano slid down the wall, rubbing at his eyes as sobs racked his form. "Mi-i dispiace!" There was no pity in Antonio's gaze as he shrugged the two off of him.

"Tell that to your brother."

A hush had fallen over the meeting. No one met anyone else's eyes, no one spoke. Germany was forced to call it to an end; everyone was glad to get away. Antonio left slowly, walking out with his head held high.

* * *

He sat on the couch, his head in his hands as he contemplated his next course of action. He'd asked me if he'd done well, if he'd made me happy. I told him he had, but I don't know if he heard me. I took a seat by his side, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He shuddered.

"I always knew you'd drive me crazy." I smiled into his back.

We all make choices that we have to live with. I wasn't strong enough to live with mine. If I had been, I would have seen that not every action had consequences. My life wasn't so terrible. The only thing wrong with me was me, but not in the way I thought.

So what if I wasn't good at cooking, or painting? Who cared if I was an untalented, clumsy mess? Why should I give a damn what anyone thought of me?! No one was perfect… It was my choice, my fault. I was the one who didn't believe in myself. I was the one so desperate to fail, to anger, to ruin.

I was the one so desperate to falter, and Antonio... to catch me.


End file.
